Sunday August 28

A lazy Sunday, twenty minutes drive
between ranch homes, dry hills,
trees with their branches swaying
shadows on the hot afternoon road,
and I have arrived. Or,

One doesn't arrive at all, but rather
like the way things enter a house,
neglected and gathering dust,
fall between stacked boxes,
a hard to reach corner, and settled there,

In the days of not remembered,
without you, and you, and you,
without the sins of give and take,
just days passing without measure,
blending into the next, dissolving

Into scenes on repeat -
Solace in music in car,
solitary walks down crowded streets,
feelings in the colors of sky and water,
changing seasons and changing lights,

Memories fleeting, and going nowhere.